Opening Moves

“If I don’t have a report then I can just plead ignorance. That will also mean that the French plan will succeed.”

Hood continued the thought in his own words.

“In which case I have no doubt that they will present SHAEF with a large field force of experienced and capable soldiers under the guise of the French Foreign Legion with nice new French Flags in abundance. Soldiers who would be an asset to the Allied efforts.”

Eisenhower nodded emphatically, putting his decision into words.

“I won’t burden you with unnecessary report writing Thomas. Keep an eye on the situation and report verbally to me on anything I might find of interest.”

Hood grinned widely.

“Yes Sir, it will be my honour Sir.”

Hood stood, saluted, and left, all in one slick flowing movement, leaving Eisenhower seated alone, with his cigarettes, coffee and thoughts, the sudden flare of burning paper on the log fire noted by his peripheral vision.

Only the Europeans would have a fire burning brightly in the hearth on hot summer’s afternoon. Apparently it added ambience.

‘French Foreign Legion? Jesus.’

Eisenhower had to hand it to them; it was quite elegant in its simplicity, although the duplicity of his French Allies was there for all to see.

The French even had an agreed protocol that they could recruit Germans into the Legion, including Waffen-SS, a protocol agreed amongst the Western Allies solely for the purpose of fighting Communist Guerrillas in Indo-China. Wracking his memory, he could not recall the exact wording. He challenged himself with a bet.

‘Care to speculate on whether they have that bit of paper ready to quote when tackled, and that it doesn’t prohibit recruitment for other areas?’

A moment’s pause.

‘No takers on that one General.’

None the less, politically acceptable to his masters or not, extra experienced soldiers would be most welcome.

“Jesus.”

Speaking aloud as he stood he drew the attention of the passing Rossiter.

“May I help Sir?”

Thinking quickly, Ike excused his language by complaining of a twinge in his back.

Rossiter moved away.

This time, ensuring he kept his thoughts to himself, Eisenhower picked up his cigarette pack and headed to the telephone for his regular chat with his senior commanders.

‘Goddamn, the SS are going to go back to war.’

Chapter 53 – THE RATHAUS

When men find they must inevitably perish, they willingly resolve to die with their comrades and with their arms in their hands.

Flavius Vegetius Renatus

0437 hrs Sunday 12th August 1945, ‘Haus der Zufriedenheit’, Baltische Straße, Metgethen, East Prussia.

Less than four months ago, it would have been the fear of the Gestapo that would have troubled the woman all the way from her bed to the door.

Now the heavy insistent knocking summoned up images of the NKVD, who had similar habits to the GeheimeStaatsPolizei, with pretty much the same end result.

People went missing.

It had been difficult for the residents of Metgethen. Occupied by the Red Army, retaken by the Wehrmacht and then reoccupied once more. There had been atrocities visited upon the German populace. Unspeakable atrocities that had become world knowledge, although in truth, many who heard them merely shrugged and mentally balanced the reports against the actions of German and other axis soldiers in many faraway places.

A number of visitors from the International Red Cross had been and gone, and with their departure the enthusiasm of the world’s press waned, and so the village was settling back into a life of obscurity once more.

However, insistent loud knocking on a door at half four in the morning is never a good thing, but more especially if it is your door.

A match was struck and a candle lit, throwing its eerie light on the hallway.

“Open up,” came a voice used to instant obedience, “Open up or I will break the door down.”

She reached the front door, calling out her approach, reaching down to slide back the bottom bolt, the noise of which confirmed her presence to those outside.

Undoing the top bolt, she opened the door.

There were the local policeman and an NKVD soldier, side by side, illuminated by the headlights of the car behind them.

“What on earth do you want at this time in the morning Karl?” she said, asserting her strong community position and addressing the policeman.

There was no reply.

The two folded back as if hinged like double doors, opening up to reveal a black silhouette.

“Guten Morgen gnädige Frau.”

Some voices carry venom and hate no matter what is said and this voice, speaking a cultured yet clinical German, was such a voice.